Page 115 of Pack Scratch Fever
I’ve given people second and third chances—mainly my family, and they’ve done nothing but disappoint and hurt me.
So, without much more thought, I block the three Alphas before they can hurt me more. Then, I toss my phone across the room, curl onto my side facing away from Blair, and close my eyes.
My hand still aches from the scratch from Mister Whiskers, but it’s not enough to keep me from falling into a drunken slumber.
I’m handle everything tomorrow.
My parents, the rescue, the loss of a potential pack…
I’ll deal with it after I wake up.
My head aches.
I sit up with a groan as sunlight streams through my blinds and creates a dull throbbing behind my eyes.
My mouth is dry, and I swallow painfully.
I’m hungover, but I could swear it’s more than that.
Blair isn’t in my bed anymore, and her side is made, with only the remnants of her powdery scent left in my room.
It feels like it takes eons for me to reach my phone as I crawl slowly off my mattress. Sweat beads on my forehead, and chills wrack my body with every move I make.
When I finally grab my phone, there’s one new text from Blair.
Don’t come in today. Just rest. Mari and I have got it.
I couldn’t go into the rescue even if I wanted to.
Even moving across the room to my phone was agonizing. I sit against the wall, letting my head thud against it.
This has to be the worst hangover I’ve ever experienced in my life.
I manage to send Blair a text, telling her I feel awful, then stagger to the bathroom to change my bandage.
The scratch is inflamed and itchy. I rinse it quickly with soap under the sink, grimacing in pain, then slap a new bandage on it.
My head spins, chills wrack my body, and sweat clings to the back of my shirt.
Just get back into bed.
I stumble onto my mattress and collapse with anoofonto my back.
Then, I close my eyes and try to sleep.
But my inner Omega won’t stop screaming at me.
Go back to the Alphas! They’re our scent matches!
The despair I’ve tried to ignore comes creeping in, and hot tears spill out of my closed eyelids and down my cheeks.
I lost them.
I lost potential friendships and lifelong connections.
I’ve lost Avery, the kindest man I’ve ever met, with a passion for photography that rivals my love for cats.
His patience and tenderness had immediately put me at ease with him, and knowing his backstory about his sisters makes him even more endearing.
